Rip In | Time

"If you don't stop it," the older Elias replied, "there won't be an 'anywhere' left to stay."

The first "rip" appeared over his workbench. It looked like a jagged fissure in a mirror, except instead of a reflection, Elias saw his own workshop as it had been forty years ago. He saw his younger self, vibrant and focused, soldering a pocket watch. Rip in Time

He took the key, walked to the window, and tossed it into the tall grass of the meadow. Some things were meant to stay broken. "If you don't stop it," the older Elias

"If I stop it," Elias whispered, "I stay here, in a world where I’m old and alone?" He took the key, walked to the window,

"The Rip in Time isn’t a window, Elias," the man said, stepping into the light. It was Elias—older, frailer, his hands scarred by burns he hadn’t received yet. "It’s a leak. Every second you let that clock run, the present drains into the past. You’re trading your 'now' for a 'then' that’s already gone."

Elias looked back at the tear. Through it, he saw his younger self look up, as if sensing a ghost. The colors in the current room were fading, turning the grey of old newsprint. His own hands were becoming translucent.

Silence returned to the workshop. The shadow-man was gone. Elias stood alone in the dim light, his hands shaking and very much solid. He was still old, and his back still ached, but the dust on his table was real, and the sun rising outside was new.